


Apricot

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Glimpses of the Heart [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Character of Color, Lesbian Sex, Love Affair, On an actual Sunday, POV Anthea, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation, Secret Relationship, Soft Sunday Smut, off screen death of a child, workaholics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: The most painful love affairs are the ones we can't get over. Six months after breaking things off with Sally Donovan, Anthea has stumbled. It was one drunken night, a moment of weakness. But now it's daylight, and reality sets in. She's ready to admit she was wrong...but it may be too late. Sally may have had enough.





	Apricot

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the #Soft Smut Sunday effort on Tumblr (find me @savvyblunders). All fic, art, vids, moodboards, prompts and song recs are welcome!

Anthea frequently woke in unfamiliar surroundings (and she was accustomed to sleeping in any number of faceless hotel rooms) but even so she found herself at first disoriented by the apricot-coloured wall she found herself facing when she first woke. Blinking, regretting the bottle of sparkling white Burgundy they had overindulged in, she thought back over the preceding evening and came to several conclusions. Indeed, when she rolled over to face the room, they proved correct. 

It was the same room she had fallen asleep in late the prior evening, only the normally off-white walls were tinged with the first shades of dawn which came through the tall, narrow window whose shades they had forgotten to draw. Sally was still, curled up slightly, her back toward Anthea, the sheet, patterned with large, whimsical polka dots--completely out of place in Sally’s flat, the woman had never ventured outside of plain white sheets in all the time she’d known her--was wrapped around her, tucked under her chin. It was obvious from her breathing that she was awake. Anthea lightly touched the ends of her curls with her perfectly manicured fingers, let her fingertip trail over Sally’s shoulder, “Sal…”

 

“Don’t.” Sally Donovan’s voice, usually so crisply acerbic, was damp.

 

Anthea’s heart squeezed in her chest.

 

“‘M’not--why do you keep coming back?” Sally sniffled as quietly as possible; the sheets shifted slightly, drawing towards her face. Obviously she was wiping her face. The proper thing to do would be to excuse herself to the loo and then emerge, in full battle-gear, make a polite excuse about work and leave.

 

But she didn’t want that--that was how it always went. For over two years now...and in the beginning it had been okay, it had been enough. Anthea had dedicated herself with single-minded vision to her career, risen with remarkable speed to her present position, a fact of which she was very proud. She was the second most trusted person in Great Britain; privy to incredible power and responsibility; granted authority over a dozen assistants and agents. 

 

And it was no longer all that she wanted.

 

“It’s been six months,” Sally said flatly, the silence having stretched on too long. “Lot’s changed…’m’not, not willing to wait around for your pleasure any more. I’ve had enough of being everyone’s dirty little secret.” The badly hidden quaver in her voice when she said  _ secret  _ brought quick, hot tears to Anthea’s eyes.

 

It had been so easy at first, Anthea thought through the pain; two work-obsessed women, second in command to two driven men, professional sergeants-in-arms to the Government and the Law. Their lives were almost like a calling--protecting the public. Personal relationships rather tended to fall by the wayside. The first time had been nothing more than a late-night shared pot of tea whilst waiting on Mr Holmes and the Detective Inspector to finish consulting on a very important matter--just an accidental brush of hands and the electricity leapt between them. Their eyes had met, startled, before they smoothed it over, pretended it hadn’t happened. Six hours later Anthea showed up at Sally Donovan’s door, cooly reserved on the outside, desperate to kiss her on the inside. They hadn’t made it past the Welcome mat.

 

Biting, late-night kisses in alleys away from the ever-present cameras; eyes meeting across crime scenes; political lies covered with polite nothings; drunken late night calls; missed dates. There were fights and reconciliations and faltering weeks were they both swore they were finished.

 

In the end, Anthea had been the one to take her leave; as graciously and elegantly as she had learned from Mr Holmes, she exited Sally’s life, convinced it was for the best--for  _ both _ of them.

 

These six months had been the longest they’d been parted since the affair started.

 

Throwing off the sheet--which was new since Anthea had stayed over last--Sally sat up quickly, swinging her long, gorgeous legs out of bed. “Sal--no, wait. Please?” Sally sat still, back straight and proud; she still hadn’t looked at Anthea. Anthea hadn’t the faintest idea what to say. 

 

_ My job is for life. Love me anyway. I want you--at the end of the day, all I want is you. We can do this. _

 

Could they, though? Divorce rate was high among the police, higher still for people of her strata within the government. Casual relationships were mere dust to be swept aside in the oncoming tide of duty.

 

But the alternative was no Sally. And Anthea had lived like that for six months in misery, lonely and alone and missing Sally like a sharp ache under her ribs. She studied her lover, wondering if there was even anything she could say; and if there was, wasn’t it terribly selfish of her to ask Sally to let her come back? The only guarantee she had was that all of her previous relationships had died awkward, painful deaths. Some of them before they’d even properly started.

 

Sally sat with quiet dignity, waiting for Anthea to speak. She still hadn’t turned around to look at Anthea, not once. Her curly hair flowed over her shoulders, longer than before, almost masking the scar from an old knife wound. Anthea had spent hours one weekend, kissing Sally’s body, ages just tracing the scar with her lips; now she touched it lightly, drew her finger down, down over the slightly-too thin ribs, the shallow dip of her waist. The sheet puddled at her hips, not quite concealing a tattoo. It was new, not the type of thing Sally Donovan would ever have done before.

 

Nevertheless, a small, Kawaii-style Narwhal rode the curve of her hip, adorable and silly and not quite Sally. Anthea touched it delicately, “Carly?”

 

“Yeah,” Sally answered after a moment, reaching for a bra (that was new, used to she wore utilitarian cotton sports bras, not this soft, stretchy silky peach and lavender thing). After tugging it on, she reached into the mess next to the bed ( _ definitely _ not new, and an old source of contention between them) and pulled out a pair of boxers, but made no move to put them on. The sight of the expected item of clothing actually made Anthea feel better. Not everything had changed. Six months wasn’t a lifetime. There was still time for her to make amends, find her way back. 

 

First she’d best start with an apology. A lot of things had happened in six months. “I was sorry to hear about Carly--is your sister alright?” Sally’s fifteen year old niece had succumbed to leukemia a few months past. She was the one who loved to draw, who was obsessed with Kawaii, anime and Japanese culture. Narwhals had been her favourite. Anthea knew all of this even though she had never met her. Never met any of Sally’s family...which had increasingly become an issue.

 

“Bout as well as can be expected--her and Ben are seein’ a therapist. Jasmine’s had a bit of trouble in school, acting out.” Sally finally turned and looked over her shoulder for the first time, dark eyes wary. “The flowers were beautiful...thanks.”

“It was the least...I-I wanted to…” Anthea, never at a loss for words, stumbled, “Calling seemed intrusive...but I wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”  _ Always thinking about you, dear God, all the time. _

 

Sally’s eyes softened, “They were perfect--everyone else sent white roses and lilies and it was like a fuckin’ wedding.”

 

Anthea had paid extra to have the florist create a Pikachu out of yellow daisies. At the time it had seemed like enough--she wouldn’t be welcomed at the funeral. No one but Sally knew who she was. Anthea wasn’t even sure Sally had ever told them about her, or if they even knew Sally had been dating a woman. It had been Anthea, not Sally, who cautioned delay, secrecy. There was no rush, they were young. 

 

Only now they were six months older, both alone and unhappy and not better off.

 

The reality was a cold bed, ready-meals for one, late nights at work because no one was waiting impatiently for her to come back for wine and pasta in front of the telly, for making out on the sofa, legs tangled, lips damp and jaws aching from kissing. Sundays ceased to have meaning with no Sally to shape her days. There hadn’t seemed to be any point to time off, and even Mr Holmes had once or twice seemed to be on the verge of speaking. In the end he had not. Theirs was not that kind of relationship.

 

There wasn’t anyone to pry.  To take away her mobile and her laptop and make her sleep. To ask her what the hell she was doing. Just endless work.

 

Her heart caught in her throat, oh God, she had nearly let this woman go because of what? Work? Work was a cold mistress. The last six months had certainly proven that. “Salamander…”

 

“...please don’t call me that,” Sally rasped, voice breaking, “not if you’re not gonna stay.”

 

“I’d...like to stay,” Anthea managed, daring to reach out and take Sally’s hand. She met her eyes, heart pounding, “Please, Sal...I fucked up. So very badly. I know that, Christ, believe me, I  _ know _ how badly I messed things up between us. I’ve regretted it...and been too scared and too proud to try and come talk to you.” She brought Sally’s hand to her mouth, kissed her knuckles gently, “But I’m here now...stay with me? Talk?” She smiled, fragile, hopeful, “We’ve...got all day.”

 

“It’s Sunday--lunch at Mum’s.” Sally studied her hand in Anthea’s as if it were of deep anthropological importance, “I promised I’d come early and help in the garden.”

 

“I’ll--come with you,” Anthea promised rashly. She sat up, leaning on her elbow, hand cradling Sally’s damp cheek, “You always wanted me to meet them, your family.”

 

“Who’s in a rush now?” Sally asked, a trifle bitterly; she’d campaigned for Anthea to meet them and been politely rebuffed every time.

 

_ Just to meet them, babe, Jesus! It’s not commitment, I’m not bloody asking you to marry me! ‘S been a year, surely we can admit this is more than a fling? _

 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think--and regret.” Anthea looked toward the window, afraid to meet her eyes, afraid to care too much, lest she be devastated by a single  _ no _ . “I’m not saying you have to tell them I’m anything other than a friend--for now--just...introduce me to them. Let me prove to you I mean it this time.”

 

Sally bit her lip, eyes huge; Anthea’s heart began to race hopefully. “You’d...do that? For real? No last minute ‘emergencies’ or lies about being workmates?”

 

“If you want, we can introduce me as your girlfriend,” Anthea said solemnly, remembering the empty hurt in Sally’s voice when she cried off of being anyone’s secret. She squeezed her hand, “It’s far too soon, I know...but then, we’ve always gone too fast, haven’t we?”

 

The silence grew in depth and gravity as Sally regarded her silently. She had on her best Detective Sergeant face and even Anthea couldn’t really read her. Anthea bit her lip, throat tight. It might be too late. “One thing hasn’t changed,” Sally said slowly, her face solemn and fierce and longing, “I’m still a fool for you.” Her mouth twisted into something half smile, half grimace, “Always will be, I expect.”

 

“Oh Sally!” Anthea gasped, and began crying softly in relief. She sagged forward into her arms, pressing her wet face into the sweet curve of Sally’s neck, clinging to her. “Thank you, thank you...you won’t regret it...I swear...” she whispered over and over, until Sally hushed her, “We were both at fault, babe, and I guess we both have some fences to mend,” and she held her face and kissed her sweetly, grave and serious, but with a light in her eyes that Anthea had worried she had extinguished forever.

 

They stretched out on the messy bed together, their heads close together on Sally’s pillow, Anthea sniveling pathetically; now that she’d begun she couldn’t seem to stop. Sally brushed a rough fingertip under Anthea’s eyes, smearing her tears, “You’re disgusting when you cry, Jones.”

 

“I know,” Anthea wept, wiping her nose shamelessly on the sheet. “ _ This _ is disgusting, Sal. You really should keep some tissues next to the bed.”

 

“Shut up, it’s my house.”

 

“Yes, dear.” Anthea bit her lip, grinning through her persistent tears. “God, I missed you. You and your filthy hovel and your bossy manner and those toenails of yours which could pierce an elephant’s hide.”

 

“As if you’re any prize,” Sally grumbled, hiding a smile in the pillow. She gave Anthea a sharp, sparkling look, “Too posh to live...addicted to your mobile…” She pressed a kiss to Anthea’s shoulder, “still got that one, lonely freckle right there, I see.” Her breath was damp and beguiling on Anthea’s bare skin.

 

“Yes,” Anthea agreed breathlessly, “kept it just for you.” She sighed shakily, “Salamander?”

 

“Yeah, angel?” Sally kissed her, taking her time, and Anthea whimpered lightly, threading her hands into the tangles of dark hair.

 

“W-what time do we have to be at your parents?”

 

Sally smiled, peeling back the sheet, breathed softly over Anthea’s nipple, which pearled under her attentions, “Got at least two hours…’s I recall, we can do a lot in that time.” She looked up at her, winked, “Even have sex, breakfast, shower and catch the train…”

 

“Together we’re truly a marvel to behold,” Anthea agreed, running her fingers through Sally’s hair and letting it fan out on her shoulders, rolling so she could curl a leg around her hip, “It’s been ages since I kissed you all over, Sal…”

 

“There’s time for that,” Sally murmured, delicately nuzzling Anthea’s nipple, turning her head to brush her cheek over her soft, soft skin, “first I want to taste you and see if you still taste of apricots…”

 

“Oh God,” she said faintly, in thanks and petition, shivering as Sally laid a trail of damp, open-mouthed kisses down her belly. She smoothed Sally’s hair back, wanting to see her face. Sally skimmed her fingers over the damp folds of Anthea’s cunt, brushing her delicately enough to tease, not enough to satisfy.

 

“Mmm…” Sally hummed, dipping her tongue into her belly button, earning herself a breathless laugh. She grinned up Anthea’s body, reaching up to play lightly with her nipple, rolling and tugging just so, “Seem to recall this always drove you crazy…”

 

Parting her legs, Anthea shamelessly rolled her hips to allow better access, moaning when Sally traced her bikini line with the tip of her tongue. Mindful not to clutch demandingly at her hair, Anthea stroked Sally’s neck, gazed at her lovingly as she proceeded to tease her with soft fingers and a softer tongue. The early morning hush was broken by the ragged sound of her breathing and the quiet cries as Sally’s tongue probed her slickly, her fingers caressing and curling. She watched hungrily as Sally’s other hand disappeared beneath her, watched her hips arch into the stroke of that hidden hand. “I want to make you come,” she protested.

 

“You first,” Sally husked, licking her lips; she groaned, “God, you’re so sweet, angel.”

 

“Please...oh love, I’m s-so close…”

 

The firm curling of Sally’s tongue was all it took, and Anthea broke sharply, her hips rising urgently. Sally licked her, her tongue strong and clever and so familiar, and Anthea climaxed again, softer, in ongoing waves. Her legs were shaking, her toes curled, and she dragged a pillow over her face, sobbing soft and hoarse, knowing from experience how thin the walls were. “Sweet babe,” she heard Sally croon, “Oh my sweet babe...yes…”

 

“Sweetheart,” Anthea gasped, throwing the pillow aside and holding out her arms, “Please, come kiss me…”

 

Gladly, Sally joined her, melting down over her blissful body, her eyes bright and dark and so hungry, her lips damp and perfumed with Anthea’s pleasure. Their kiss was deep and satisfying and complicated, easing the last of the stings. They weren’t there yet, Anthea knew; she had wounds to heal and roads to repair, but there was something strong between them that wouldn’t quit.

 

“Oh God, I missed your mouth,” Anthea groaned, “missed kissing you and feeling you come alive in my arms,” she gasped, holding her tight, one hand smoothing down the long, proud back, the other slipping between Sally’s slim, muscled thighs, “I missed you, Salamander.”

 

“I missed you too, angel,” Sally moaned, squirming at the first glide of Anthea’s fingers, “Missed your taste, and your lips, and those gorgeous blue eyes...oh God! The way you touch me…”

 

The wet, firm bud of Sally’s clit surrendered to Anthea’s touch, the heel of her hand pressing on her mons, rolling and massaging, as her fingers delved inside of her, moving slick and fast until Sally shouted into her shoulder and came hard, hips jerking against her. She laughed, bright and almost ecstatic, the way she sometimes did when she came, and their kiss was deep and messy and glorious.

 

“I love you,” Sally moaned happily, “Goddamn I was furious and I still haven’t put you back on my Christmas list, but I am painfully in love with you.” She rolled onto her side, one arm draped over Anthea’s waist, fingers lightly strumming her ribs, “Fuck you’re beautiful when you’ve come.”

 

Anthea was breathless with delight, “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself...especially when you’re happy.” She tucked hair out of Sally’s eyes, “All I want is you,” she spoke seriously, recalling her earlier thoughts, “Come what may, I want you, Sally Donovan. I love you to the point of insanity.”

 

“You might get a card if you keep this up,” Sally said flippantly, kissing her, “Something sparkly and tacky as hell.” But Anthea knew Sally Donovan; she knew it was going to be alright. They knew what they were risking, now, if they let this go.

 

The future, Anthea thought happily, was brighter than the sunrise.


End file.
